


Suspenders

by princessoftheworlds



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Ianto and Jack squabble over each other's clothes.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 50





	Suspenders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transjackianto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjackianto/gifts).



> I really don't know what this is...I blame Kai and his suggestion that [this post](https://twitter.com/chirunax/status/1299413740555849728) apply to Ianto. This is also my least ridiculous/fancy title in ages.
> 
> Enjoy, I guess????

After Jack leaves and when Ianto starts going into the field more often with the rest of the team, he finds that while wearing a suit is good for looking presentable at work and getting your very attractive boss to flirt with you, it also is restrictive for the bursts of sudden movement required as a Torchwood operative and chafes immensely, especially around the groin. And it’s not even as if Ianto’s not used to being in the field and running around in a suit, which he used to do a lot at Torchwood London, but then, he’d been Yvonne’s PA, so there had been actual professionals who were meant to disable the bomb, shoot down the alien ship, or tackle the Weevil.

So when Ianto is shopping at Tesco for coffee and biscuits, both for his flat and for the Hub, and sees an odd sale for suspenders - sock suspenders, sleeve garters, shirt suspenders, he finds it ridiculous at first, but then his curiosity wins out in the end. 

The first time Ianto wears the suspenders, he ditches the sleeve garters - they’re just too restrictive against his arms - but slides on the sock suspenders and buckles the shirt suspenders around his hips. At first, it feels constrictive. 

_ Kinky _ , the small voice in his head that sounds like Jack comments, and Ianto rolls his eyes.

Then Ianto spends the entire day chasing Weevils and is surprised when his dress socks barely even slip down during the day and his shirt stays tucked inside his trousers, ultimately producing less chafing and irritation for him. So he continues to wear them, extremely grateful that he’s never had to change in the rarely-used Torchwood locker room and face Owen’s snide remarks.

Soon after Jack comes back and Ianto forgives him and agrees to a date, they find themselves alone in a hotel room, snogging. 

Jack’s hands are everywhere on Ianto, in his hair, tracing across his neck, loosening his tie, trying to worm under his clothes. Jack frowns when he finds that pulling Ianto’s shirt free from his trousers is harder than it used to be, but that frown turns into a wide smirk when Ianto slips off his trousers to reveal the shirt and sock suspenders.

“Kinky,” drawls Jack and looks adorably bewildered, hair unbelievably mussed from Ianto’s fingers, when Ianto won’t stop chuckling. “ _ What _ ?”

When Ianto has caught his breath, he straightens up and fixes Jack with a sober expression. “It isn’t fetishwear; the suspenders work to hold my clothes in place. They’re actually quite useful.”

“Right,” replies Jack, brow still furrowed, head still cocked, but then he’s reaching a hand to tug Ianto back on top of him on the bed. Ianto quickly undoes the suspenders himself, and not much later, they’re both too preoccupied to think about the suspenders.

Of course, that isn’t the end of Jack’s struggle with the suspenders. The first few times, he jokes and laughs about Ianto being a gift for him to unwrap or that he has a leather harness to match Ianto’s suspenders, but eventually, he grows frustrated with not having easy access to Ianto’s body.

“How are we supposed to have hot, passionate sex,” he complains one day while his sweaty fingers fumble with the clasps to Ianto’s shirt suspenders, the sock suspenders lying abandoned nearby on the cement floor of his office, “if it takes me ten minutes to take off your clothes?”

“This is a practicality.” Ianto sighs, leaning against Jack’s desk. “It makes it easier for me to move around in the field.”

“You still spend more time in the archives than you do in the field,” Jack points out.

“This job is not suitable for a man wearing a suit, but I like wearing a suit. Now, I don’t look dishevelled after working in the archives,” Ianto explains. “Do you know how many jokes Owen made about us having sex in the archives because I would come back upstairs with my shirt untucked from my trousers?”

“It still looks ridiculous.” Jack drops his hands from Ianto’s body, grumbling, and wipes them down on his own trousers. Ianto has to refrain from chastising Jack for doing so; he doesn’t think it’d be appreciated right now. 

“You’re one to talk,” Ianto finally retorts. “You wear braces and a belt. Are you that terrified of your trousers falling down, Jack?”

“It’s stylish!”

“ _ It’s ridiculous! _ ” Ianto’s just getting started, eyes narrowed. “And you wear the same colors every day. You have ten copies of the same shirt and trousers.” He points to Jack’s shirt, lying crumbled on the floor near the entrance to his bunker. “It’s not 1945 any more!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. Fine. I get it. You hate my wardrobe.”

“ _ I don’t hate _ -” Ianto sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Let’s forget about this. We’re both being a little ridiculous to each other right now. Here.” Quickly, he undoes the clasps to the shirt suspenders himself and strips them off before sidling closer to Jack to sit in his lap.

“Oh, now  _ this _ I don’t mind.”

After that, Ianto considers the issue resolved, and a few hours later, he goes home to his own flat and gets a good night of sleep, unusual for Torchwood. The next morning, he returns to the Hub to find that Jack isn’t there. He isn’t sleeping in his bunker or in his office, so Ianto presumes he’s out on a rooftop somewhere.

The rest of the team slowly filters in and are handed cups of coffee by Ianto. He’s thanked profusely by Tosh and Gwen and grumbled at by Owen, but it’s polite grumbling compared to Owen’s usual brash attitude.

Finally, the cog wheel door of the Hub rolls aside, the alarms blaring and red lights flashing, as Jack strides in instead of using the invisible lift and is met by stunned silence. Ianto turns around a moment later and nearly drops Jack’s cup of coffee.

Jack isn’t wearing his usual shirt-trousers-braces-and-greatcoat combo. He’s dressed casually in a white t-shirt that flatters his broad shoulders and chest, an expensive-looking black leather jacket, and blue denim that clings to his rather shapely arse. He looks good, and he knows it, preening and turning this way and that.

“You’re just stealing my style now, mate,” Owen says as he crosses in front of his desk to stare at Jack, sipping at his coffee, eyes wide. “Ran out of cheap military greatcoats that Ianto could repair?”

“Nope!” replies Jack, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Just wanted to try something new.”

Gwen looks horrified, lips pursed. “This doesn’t feel right,” she says slowly. “Like seeing your teacher in Tesco on a Sunday.” She eyes Owen speculatively. “Wasn’t he bit by that alien yesterday?”

Owen shakes his head. “Shallow bite, and we have no files on record that being bit by that species can cause drastic changes in personality.”

“Hey!” Jack protests. “You’re supposed to tell me I look good!”

“You do,” Tosh replies appeasingly. “We’re just not used to seeing you dressed…”

“Like a normal person,” Owen offers, smirking.

“...casually,” finishes Tosh. Then her eyes narrow as something occurs to her. “ _ Wait a minute _ ! It was you out on the Plass I saw on the CCTV the day the mayor turned out to be a Slitheen. You put the Hub into lockdown and told me not to worry about it.” Her words are accusatory.

Jack looks bashful. “Ah, yes, about that...I’ll explain another day. Don’t you guys have work to do?”

Rolling their eyes, Tosh, Owen, and Gwen return to their desks. Owen resumes playing video games on his computer while Gwen busies herself with her paperwork. Tosh pulls out a miniature circuit and continues soldering it. 

“Ianto…” Questioningly, Jack turns to find his youngest employee standing unnaturally still next to the coffee machine, cheeks blushing bright red. Jack smirks, grateful to have his intended effect on at least someone. “Do you like my new outfit, Ianto?”

“I...uh…” Ducking his head and stuttering, Ianto thrusts Jack’s now-cold cup of coffee into his hands and rushes to the archives.

In the privacy of the dusty shelves, Ianto takes a moment to adjust his clothes, skin burning. He quickly turns his attention to reorganizing the “A” section, completely a wreck from when Owen tried to dig out an Arcateenian artifact last week, but he cannot rid the image of Jack in modern clothes that flatter his body from his thoughts.

He spends the next few hours squirming, thinking of Owen performing alien dissections, and willing his blood to flow anywhere but below his belt.

His only respite, that the whole team knows that only Ianto is allowed in the archives, is short-lived, because Jack himself decides to wander downstairs.

“Ianto...Ianto, where are you?” he calls as he passes the many aisles and shelves. “Ianto? It’s nearly time for... _ oh _ !”

Jack’s words are smothered when he finds himself yanked into an utility closet by a frantic Ianto, his lips captured in a messy kiss, and his clothes rapidly stripped. 

After a moment, he steps back, leaning his head against the door. “Ianto, are you alright?”

Wild-eyed, chest heaving, Ianto nods. “You’re never allowed to wear anything but your usual shirt-and-trousers again.” Then a hand snakes into Jack’s jeans, and brain function for both men ceases. 

Later, when both men sit on the cold floor, panting and glistening with sweat, Jack groans and stretches out his muscles. “As fun as that was, a little warning next time? We left the team hungry and not knowing where we are.”

“They’re not children, Jack,” Ianto retorts, head lolling against the wall. “They probably went out to a pub for lunch.”

“Right, right.” Jack nods. Then, after several moments: “How about if I don’t complain about your weird suspenders again, you never bring up my clothes again?”

“Deal,” Ianto sagely agrees, both men thinking that that’s the end of the style weirdness in Torchwood.

Of course, it’s the biggest shock in the world when the next day, Owen enters the Hub wearing a suit and Tosh and Gwen appear to have swapped wardrobes, but that’s another story.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction.


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